


The case of the (almost) perpetual blue balls

by CMDAK



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: M/M, clueless James Bond, sneaky Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 16:47:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10517817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMDAK/pseuds/CMDAK
Summary: Dialing a wrong number isn't always a bad thing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to a a group that might or might not be known as the Hive Mind.
> 
> Hope everyone enjoys~

James wasn’t surprised when his contact betrayed him which led to the mission going tits up before it even had a chance to properly start. This had happened to him so many times that Miss Moneypenny had bought him a joke suit with a bullseye target drawn on his back and his own boss swore on the last shrivel of her soul that should he end even the simplest of missions without complications, she’d dye her hair pink, get a Mohawk, and buy an Aston Martin with MI6 money which she would then have the Major personalise before giving it to him.

 

That’s how used everyone was with him fucking up because of his incredible bad luck.

Not that anyone cut him some slack despite this being a common occurrence, James cringing at the thought of the three hours of scolding he was bound to get from the Major when he cleaned his ear of the expensive earwig pieces, wondering if this time it broke when he got hit over the ear with the butt of a pistol or when his head had been smashed repeatedly against the wall.

 

Maybe he could claim that the earwig stopped a bullet from piercing his skull. If the Major bought that, he’d surely also buy the half-deaf act he planned on pulling and just send one giant e-mail with his rant. But first thing was first and he nicked a phone so he could check in with Q Branch and see how the mission’s parameters had changed, dialling the overly long number from memory as he continued to run as inconspicuously as an almost six feet, blond, bleeding man in a well-tailored suit could.

 

“ _Hello—_ ”

 

“Q,” he interrupted the sultrier voice than usual in a grunt, diving between some sacks of flour in a truck that had just pulled away from a stop sign. “Connect me to Q right now.”

 

He heard the woman let out a badly disguised suffering sigh before clicking her tongue. “ _I understand that you are very eager, sir, as Q is one of our best_.” What the bloody hell was wrong with this boffin? As much as it pained him to admit it even to himself just in case the Major had the ability to read minds and would surely use this thought against him the next time, whoever was Q had no choice but to be the best in order to be the proud owner of that letter. “ _Sir? Sir, did you hear what I said?_ ”

 

“Spaced out for a bit,” he admitted. “What did you say you need from me?

 

“ _Your credit card number,_ ” she said slowly and loudly, as if she was dealing with either a deaf person or someone who was a bit on the slow side. “ _If you don’t have a credit card number for me, then I am afraid that I will have to end the conversation right here and right now._ ”

 

Okay, he’ll definitely have to start paying attention to meetings in the future. MI6 seemed to have made a hobby out of changing their protocols from one week to another, but thank God he used that number a lot more often than the Q Branch landline so he was able to give the woman what she wanted pretty much right off the bat.

 

“ _One moment please,_ ” she said after she finished typing the number, chuckling. “ _I’ll transfer you right away, Mister Archer._ ” He heard a loud beep, like a button had been pushed, but the woman was still on the line. “ _Wow, okay, this guy sounds like he’s about done, so Q won’t really make that—Ups, connection mistake, stud. I’m transferring you right now to Q!_ ”

 

A button was pressed again and the line started to ring again, James taking the phone away from his ear so he could check and make sure that the number was correct – which it appeared to be, so he put the phone back to his ear.

 

“ _Hello sexy; what can I be for you today?_ ” A posh voice purred in his ear and if it were in any other circumstances, James would have come up with a very interesting reply.

 

“Helpful,” he said instead, cursing when he caught a glimpse of an all too familiar driver right on the truck’s trail.

 

The other man hummed. “ _Sure thing, darling. Would you like me to help you out of your clothes? Help myself out of my clothes? Or help you get me undressed?_ ” Something that sounded like a bunch of coins clanked in the background and his strange friend gasped. _“It seems that my shirt was already ripped open.”_

 

James swallowed hard and tugged a bit at his collar, a bullet lodging itself just a bit to the left from where he was hiding. “Look, I don’t know what little game you boffins are playing and you do sound like someone I’d love to see without clothes, but I am a moving target for the person who the dear old Major presented as my ally so if you could be so kind as to get Q to get me out of this in one piece?”

 

“ _Oh, great_ ,” the other man muttered in a still posh, but very disappointed and slightly annoyed voice. “ _Another bloody spy who didn’t dial the correct phone number._ ”

 

Today was definitely not his day. “Look, hang up and forget you head this—”  

 

“ _Shush now, you careless agent, and try to stay alive until I pinpoint your position so I can guide you to safety._ ” Something clanked in the background, quickly followed by the sound of a certain operating program booting up. “ _By the way, you do know that you called a phone-sex number and you will be charged accordingly, even if I’m not moaning while saving you, right?_ ”

 

At least M was going to have something new to yell at him about, though he was more concerned with Eve never letting this go. “Enjoy the fifty quid or whatever and—”

 

“ _I do so love it when the bad guys have the latest technology installed in their cars and no real firewall,_ ” he muttered and James heard the screeching noise tired made when the brakes were hit suddenly. “ _Now, let’s see what your original mission was._ ”

 

“I really rather you would simply hang up,” James muttered, hoping out of the truck when it slowed down enough. He had no idea where he currently was and now that he had flour all over him, he stuck out worse than a sore thumb. “And why can I still hear you humming and typing? Didn’t I tell you to hang up?”

 

“ _I can’t,_ ” the man said simply. “ _If I do, I won’t get paid and this conversation will be pulled out by my money hungry supervisors to see why I terminated it_ ,” the man explained, implying that his superiors would somehow buy the whole spy story and sell it to the newspapers. “ _I’d also advise you to keep talking to me and go where I tell you, lest you want your friends and family to read your obituary tomorrow morning, Commander Bond.”_

 

James rarely did what he was told by people he knew, so having a complete stranger breathe instructions in his ear should have given him an allergic reaction. But in this case, James was compelled to follow the commands he was given, driven more by the curiosity f he would die by the posh voice or make it out of this in one piece – though he would probably die by M’s own hands when the phone bill came out.

 

In the end, the posh voice proved to belong to a very ingenious man who not only kept his enemies at bay, but had also managed to get him the sensitive information without any hassle and in less than three hours, his clever quips and puns making the whole thing seem like child’s play despite the angry and fast typing James had heard in the background throughout the whole ordeal.

 

 _“This is where you would hang up on me and report the successful completion of the mission to your boss, Commander Bond,_ ” the man prompted as soon as he entered the private airport.

 

But James didn’t want to. “Exchange your pleasant voice for a harpy’s screech?” He grinned when he heard the other chuckle, the security team that was in MI6’s pocket looking very surprised to see him walk by them. “Not to mention that it would be very rude for you not to reveal your name after I probably paid for a new, highly performant computer or laptop.”

 

His unseen saviour tutted. “ _Commander Bond, do try to use that pretty little blond head of yours and remember that you were transferred over to me._ ”

 

“Your name can’t be Q. No one is really named that.” He got more comfortable on the sofa, accepting the martini that he was assured that it was shaken, not stirred, by his server. “I promise that I am not a stalker.” There was a small click followed by a ringing sound and when James looked at the phone, he was surprised to see that he had apparently dialled an unknown number.

 

“ _Who’s this and how did you get this number?_ ” Came M’s cold and completely unamused voice, James drowning his drink before greeting her in the fakest pleasant voice he could muster.

 

By the time the woman was done chewing him out, the phone battery had died and he had been prompted to answer the plane’s phone, his boss even more annoyed that he had indirectly hung up on her by not asking for a phone charger.

 

***

 

Q smiled as he finally got up from the kitchen table, cracking his back. He had cursed the living daylights out of the phone when it rang, wishing the worst on the customer that had caused him to trip over his own cat in his mad dash towards his job, his freshly done laundry ending up in the cat food. But then Lady Luck smiled on him and instead of having to deal with a sleazy person like Miss Plenty – her real name, which made Q wonder just how high her parents had been when she was named – he ended up with a spy on an exciting mission.

 

He licked his lips and grinned when he saw the sum of money that had just been transferred in his offshore account. Commander Bond, codename 007, wasn’t the first MI6 agent who had ended up calling him and getting his assistance as his work phone number and MI6’s so-called Q branch phone number were set apart by just one number. And he hoped that he wouldn’t be the last, although if the playful and flirty nature of the man was any indication, that was highly unlikely.

 

“Turing, darling, guess who has enough money to visit Japan for a month?” He asked the purring black cat that was curled next to the laptop, sending Miss Plenty a quick text in which he informed her that, for today, unless anyone asked for ‘Q’, they shouldn’t be transferred to him anymore.

 

Working for a phone-sex company hadn’t been his first job choice, but then again he doubted it was for anyone. Still, this job helped him pay for his expensive digital oriented hobby and on top of allowing him to work from home and giving him a very nice commission for each and every call, it also permitted him to be picky with his customers which was a rarity for this type of job.

 

He had been asked multiple times by his co-workers who knew of his affinity for computers why he didn’t seek a job in that field and he explained that he had given up hope on that after the third company that had tried to steal his projects. He kept the fact that he had been offered pretty high position in terrorist organizations and that was what truly scared him and sent him into digital hiding. Going to any form of government agency was also out of the question, his pity for the field agents notwithstanding, as he was afraid that he would end up being forced to work for them from behind bars.

 

But that fear never really stopped him from popping in on an agency’s servers even when he wasn’t on the phone with an agent in need of help, just so he could get better acquainted with the person whose life he had just saved – and Commander Bond was quite a very interesting spy.

 

His medical records resembled a novel and Q closed it after the fifth time the agent had gotten shot, wondering how the hell he was still walking around instead of being grass fertilizer. And his list of lovers was extensive to the point that Q was sure Casanova himself would feel the need to do something in order to compensate. But then again, it wasn’t a real surprise when you looked at the man.

 

Tall, blond, blue eyes, smirk that was pleasant instead of condescending or annoying, and always dressed to bed more than kill, how was this agent sent on missions that weren’t honeypots?

 

The agent also went through apartments almost as much as he did women, though the one constant thing he still owned through some ghost people was a lovely estate that seemed to be let to go to waste. Though maybe it was for the best since two of his apartments went up in smoke, a summer home got riddled with bullets, and another one was erased from the face of the earth by a satellite being smashed into it.

 

His noising in secret files of a spy agency aside, it came to no surprise to him when he was informed by Miss Plenty that this one government agency – she couldn’t remember the name, of course – had paid a visit to their headquarters and asked for all employee records and calls from the day before, but as the company reported all suspicious activities on the spot, they refused to give them anything without a court order.

 

That didn’t mean that his supervisors wouldn’t pull all the calls from the previous day to see if there was anything in them that was a cause for concern, but Q didn’t worry at all because he had switched his conversation with 007 as soon as he had been done with the shopping, also altering the records to show that the call didn’t last more than thirty minutes and that it came from Japan which easily explained the large sum – he had done this with all the other calls, actually having a few regular clients calling him from there, so it wasn’t suspicious at all. He had also taken into consideration the possibility of a voice recognition program being used, so he ran a nifty little scrambling program he came up with over the recordings.

 

He ended up having to do the same thing not three days later when he was roused at 3 AM by his phone ringing, Miss Pussy – parents were cruel – the lovely nightshift operator, apologising profusely before dumping a rather insistent Mister Archer on him.

 

“Dear me, Mister Bond, I was sure you would have learned the right phone number until then,” Q grumbled, head hidden under his pillow. “Or is it that you are much too old to remember a simple set of numbers?” He mentally patted himself on the back and yawned, burrowing deeper under his blankets, deciding that the room was far too cold for anything else.

 

 _“You have me at a disadvantage again, Q, but I’ve been told by quite a few other agents that I really shouldn’t be surprised by that,”_ the man said in his pleasant deep voice, easing Q into the land of dreams. _“Are you snoring?”_

 

Q was startled again by a snort. “Are you dying?”

 

_“No, but—”_

 

“Then learn some manners and call at a decent hour or when you are dying.” He made to end the call but stopped seconds before he touched the screen, cursing which seemed to made the morning caller laugh. “It’s more rude than funny, you know.” He tried to keep the whining in his voice to a minimum, but he was honestly tired and he was enjoying quite a lovely dream to which he wanted to return to.

 

 _“You made me hang up the last time, so why not do so now?”_ There was a set of sounds that suspiciously sounded like someone punching another person, the curses in a different languages and a gun with a silencer being used completely chasing the sleep away from Q’s eyes and mind. _“But I’d rather you wouldn’t,” the agent said, panting, and Q pictured him leaning against a wall, one arm over his newest injury. “Is almost getting shot a good reason to call you?”_

 

The young man breathing out a sigh of relieve, hand over his chest, and his darling Turing dazedly looking up from the floor where he had end up in Q’s mad dash to get his laptop before it was too late for 007. He knew that what the men were doing was serious and that lives were lost and he did his best to truly help them in their hour of need and he had promised himself that if things should ever go down a path from which he knew he couldn’t get out, he would call MI6 – it had never happened so far, but there was always a first time for everything.

 

“I know how you tend to be, Commander Bond, and if I make the grave mistake of saying ‘yes’, I will end up being on the phone with you all day long, seven days a week.” The man’s current mission was a honeypot one, so what the hell did he do to end up in a warehouse owned by a well-known drug lord? “I really do wish you’d bother to write reports for your missions. Something tells me that they would be the most captivating read in existence.”

 

“ _Have you been talking with my boss? Because if you survived that, I promise that dinner with me—_ ”

 

“Commander Bond, how about you push out of your way the cabinet to the left and enter the hidden room?” Q interrupted him, cracking his knuckles. “And do hurry as I alerted the police and the media of where the cocaine is.”

 

He hadn’t expected for two guards to be in that room, stuffing their pockets with the illegal dust and in his defence, he wasn’t peeking in on the agent on any security cameras – because there weren’t any – and was using the building’s blueprints and electrical wire maps. But it sounded like 007 didn’t take more than three punches to the stomach before he managed to put them in their place and after tripping over a chair – ‘I didn’t trip, Q, so you can stop laughing,’ he had said in a slightly pained voice – his phone signal indicated that he was back on track.

 

Except, he couldn’t really finish the mission because his target had caught him sleeping with her husband just last year, which, because 007 apparently had to add insult to injury, he had completely forgotten about until he saw the man’s ass and heard the woman’s screech. And the reason why he was number one on the drug lord’s list? The target was his little sister which he loved more than money and to whom he had promised to present her with the agent’s genitalia.

 

“So, if I understood your mission guidelines, as you’ve been discovered, all I have to do is to guide you back to England?” Q asked just to be sure, clicking his tongue when the agent hummed in agreement. “I’ll connect you to your handler and—”

 

 _“If you help me get in touch with a few retired and active friends of mine from other agencies instead of sending me home, I promise to take you out to dinner to the best restaurant in Chelsea? London? Manchester?”_ Q started to chuckle which caused the man to click his tongue. _“Feel free to jump in and give me the name of your city anytime you’d like.”_

 

“You know, for a spy, you aren’t exactly subtle or sneaky in any way, so I have to ask you: how the bloody hell are you ranked number 1 amongst your fellow double ohs?”

 

***

 

For the first time ever, James, M, and the major had one thing in common: obsessing over who Q was. For different reasons, of course. M wanted him because he was a loose end that could be convinced to work for them for a seriously reduced fee and because she wanted to be sure that none of their enemies got to him before them. The Major wanted him because he was a genius and he wanted to learn from him as well as offer him an environment in which he could better himself and do some good for the world. And he wanted him because, well, he had saved his life, he seemed to be loyal, his voice was just perfect for his day job, and since just one of those qualities was enough to make him interested in someone.

 

But who was he and how did he look?

 

“He sounds young,” 009 oh so helpfully said at the rare meeting in which all the agents who had crossed paths via phone with the mysterious man were obligated to attend, M looking like she regretted every decision in her life that led to this point.

 

“Yes and he is also a man; Sherlock would be so jealous of you, pretty boy,” 004 snarled, fingers visibly twitching for her gun. If James only found 009 annoying because he saw himself as the perfect agent, 004 outright hated the man. And for good reason as 009 had stolen no less than five of her missions in the last two years and everybody was frankly surprised that the man was still alive.

 

“Need I remind you that we’re here in an attempt to pile together all the bits of information we all have on this Q?” 009 shot back and James caught sight of a few of the younger agents placing bets.

 

The woman rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “Yes, but we are not here to be redundant.”

 

“I am not being redundant,” 009 growled. “Since you are more inexperienced than I am in situations where guns aren’t needed,” James put down fifty quid on 004, “I find myself in the rather embarrassing position of having to inform you that during these type of meetings, we start with what we already know,” he finished, looking smugly at her – and 007 wished he had been allowed to keep his phone so he could record for posterity the fact that the perfect agent could, in fact, be very childish in certain cases.

 

Not that 004 was acting any more mature, cursing and slamming her fists against the table when she remembered that she hadn’t been allowed to bring her gun in with her. “In that case, I would like to inform you all that he was sweet enough to refund every single pound I had spent on that call, so I have the highest chance of getting him to come out of hiding.”

 

“He booked me a first class ticket back to London when I was done with my mission,” 009 said quickly and the room erupted in snorts and huffs, almost all the agents claiming that they were the ones who had Q’s actual trust so they were going to be the ones who brought the man in out of his own free will, James amused as he saw on M’s face how her headache became stronger.

 

Even the lovely Miss Moneypenny seemed amused by the childish behaviour of MI6’s best, but she put a stop to everything by clearing her throat and holding up some papers. “Actually, if we are already moving on to the second point on the meeting’s agenda?” She looked at M and the woman nodded in agreement. “The only agent who wasn’t transferred when he called just for the sake of calling, is our mischievous 007.”

 

He tilted his head back and smirked at his glaring colleagues, arranging his cufflinks.

 

M coughed and everyone’s attention switched back to the still talking Moneypenny. “Only two of the seven calls he had made in the past two months were truly needed and while our records show that Mister Smith transferred those of you who attempted to have simple conversations with him, he humoured our Mister Bond here the other five times and just kept him company.”

 

“Expensive company,” M grumbled, drumming her fingers on the table.

James shrugged. “I would love to pay MI6 back every single pound on that bill, but the recordings clearly showed that those calls were missing related.”

 

“Despite your bests attempt on the third and fifth call,” Moneypenny whispered, blowing him a kiss when he turned to glare at her.

 

“I know that he has a cat named Turing and that he's grouchy when called in the middle of the night.” He also knew that this was completely useless information, but it did serve to show that he hadn't just wasted time and money and that Q was inclined to slowly start revealing himself to him. “Does anyone in this room know more than that?”

 

The correct answer was ‘no’ and thus, he was pretty much given M’s blessing to waste MI6 money on erotic calls – that, so far, never really got beyond Q telling James in a deadpan voice that the weather was much too cold for him to ditch so much as his socks – and do his best to either get a picture of the man of get an actual date with him while the other agents were going to hold back from contacting the man unless truly necessary.

 

It turned out to be a complete waste of brain cells and time because Q called James later that very night – around 3 AM because Q was petty – to inform him of just that. “ _I’ll give your agency credit for not having the specs for this on the main server but your associates have no issue complaining about you via text messages._ ” James hummed because he had pretty much gone back to sleep, his subconscious already associating the posh voice with safety and calmness. “ _Commander Bond, snoring while being scolded is very impolite_.”

 

“So is refusing to be thanked in person,” James said as he rolled over to his right, sobering up a little because he remembered that the Major had instructed him to start a newly created tracking program when he was on the phone with Q. He didn’t really think that the program was going to find something, but lo and behold there was a ‘bing’ and the dots that were the agents were on the move.

 

Of course, he also had to keep the man on the line so the signal wouldn’t be lost. “So you must know that I am the honeypot and you the fly?”

 

“ _Oh, but you are a most delicious looking honeypot, so you are forgiven,_ ” Q purred, having revert back to his telephone sex voice. “ _Those extra tight suits of yours that look like they’d rip if you flex just a little, that grizzly hair of yours that looks like you could still tug on it_ …” He trailed off and took a deep breath and James pictured a the tip of a pink tongue running over red lips. “ _But you won’t catch this fly so easily, Commander—oh, finally! The food’s here. It only took them an eternity to bring it, bloody bastards. And Heaven forbid you don’t tip them, lest you want a bit of something extra in your sauce if you ever order from them again and you get the same snail delivering.”_

 

His stomach lurched when he heard Q saying that as it was at the same time the order to move in was given, and he knew that what he was feeling was guilt. It wasn’t the first time he felt it but it had been a long time since he had this unpleasant feeling and, fisting his hand and lowering his head, he promised himself to hurt back each agent that would accidentally hurt their saviour.

 

But he didn’t hear the door get kicked in, nor shouts or growls accompanied by very unconvincing promises that no one was there to hurt him and that everything was going to be okay, despite the pick up missing being clearly in progress. Instead, he heard an actual transaction going on and the sound of something getting chewed on and named the best damn thing he had all day.

 

“ _You know_ ,” Q started after another moment, “ _your colleagues are going to be in a quite a bit of trouble for busting in on the police chief and his mistress. Especially since it just so happened for a few reporters to be placed just across the raided apartment_.”

 

James snorted. M was probably going to have an aneurism after the prime minister was done having one. “I feel as if we have just insulted you.” Q hummed in agreement. “Then how about I make it up to you by taking you out at a nice little Italian place I know in London?”

 

“ _Enjoy the rest of the night, Commander Bond,_ ” Q said instead and hanged up, James phone immediately starting to ring again, M wasting no time with greetings before diving right into him.

 

He did eventually find out that Q actually preferred Chinese, but he never got to eat actual food from China because he detested flying. He wasn’t averse to boats, driving, and quite liked taking the train, one of his goals in live being to travel in the Orient Express. M was her usual kind self when she pointed out that everything he was telling her did not help them a single bit in tracking ‘this Q person’ down, but James stopped caring after the 4th time his glorious ass was saved – his own private boffin’s words, not his because his ego was of normal size, despite what everyone else said and thought – and he felt as if the heart of the other agents weren’t in capturing him after that either.

 

Everything had been horrible since the second his kit was presented to him, the pen that had been modified to hold acid springing a leak and ruining everything around it. Then his flight got delayed and it seemed that someone had forgotten to inform the airport security that they had to turn a blind eye at anything that looked like a weapon, so he was pulled to the side and interrogated for half an hour until MI6 intervened.

 

Someone attempted to steal the phone on his way out of the airport, but he managed to stop the thief. Unfortunately, not only wasn’t he able to catch the man, but his phone also got crushed in the little skirmish and he almost got arrested again.

 

He was saved by his driver this time, the man vouching for him and acting as his witness. But the man wasn’t on his side. He was an assassin that tried driving the car off the cliff, his plan ruined when the breaks activated themselves the second his intentions became clear and while James’ seat belt detached itself almost instantly after the car stopped, the driver’s seemed to be quite stuck which gave the agent ample time to knock his enemy out.

 

“I’ll just take this,” James told the passed out man, elbowing him hard in the face just to be sure before relieving of his phone and stuffing him in the trunk.

 

Contrary to his instincts, James had attempted to get in touch with his handler first, but the woman was close to having a panic attack because he wasn’t in the right country, the data she was seeing was completely different from what she had been briefed upon, and their department was in orange alert due to a possible leak – they should be in red alert due to a confirmed leak, if anyone bothered to ask James for his opinion, but no one did so he ended that conversation.

 

He dialled the expensive number without a single hesitation. “Archer for Q,” he breathed out even before the woman could say anything,  while waiting for his saviour to pick up.

 

The sneeze that greeted him wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “ _Why couldn’t you people have poked your nose on this operation when I wasn’t hot enough to cook a steak on me?_ ” Q croaked, probably tuning his head away from the phone so he could cough.

 

“How bad is it?”

 

It took Q a minute to answer, his teeth clattering as he did so. “ _It would seem that for whatever reason, you’re the focus; MI6 is just being distracted._ ” He started up the car for James and upgraded the GPS’s coordinates complaining about how lax MI6’s server security was and how embarrassingly easy it was for almost anyone to fake their background to get a position with them. “ _Although MI5 is also to blame for that,”_ he grumbled, probably losing the rest of his ideas to the coughing fit.

 

James had tried to end the conversation then and there and even insisted that Q went to the doctor but it only served to make the man even more determined to help him, the stubborn bastard. He also refused to run the mission from his work number, telling James where to shove his money when he thought that he had made that nifty little program of his to end the conversation from James’ end.

 

Q ended up working with MI6 over this, M agreeing not to try to track him down during this time and although the terrorist agency behind this hadn’t been discovered, they did manage to keep their losses to a minimum and complete their most important missions since Q was unofficially allowed to run the less important ones – and James’, on the agent’s insistence – which allowed the Major and his branch to focus on the other ones.

 

Many _good_ offers had been thrown at Q, but he turned each and every one of them down, explaining that he doesn’t trust MI6 at all. It was true that what they were doing was for the good of Queen and country – and even for the world, in some cases – but that didn’t mean that they were any less shady or that he trusted them more than he did the terrorists. After all, he could smell the desperation that was emanating from them and M struck him as the kind of boss who would chain him to a desk and connect him to an IV until she was done squeezing the very last drop of his abilities.

 

“Preposterous,” M declared when James had passed along Q’s message. “We would only be allowed to do that to terrorists and then if we were to classify this civilian Q as that, the prime minister wouldn’t allow us to use his knowledge to our advantage.”

 

So Q was right to assume the worst of the woman and James wouldn’t reveal his location to her if he was ever blessed with such important knowledge. He was even reconsidering letting her know that Q avoided alcohol like the plague, preferring fruity alcohol. No, actually he will.

 

He will take his sweet time telling her this just to see that vein on her forehead swell up and her eye twitch as she swore on everything she held dear – James’ money was on the kitschy dog that stared at him in a mocking way – that one day, he will go that one step too far and find his ungrateful arse riddled with bullets.

 

The second the moles in their agency were caught and most of the missions appeared to be back on track, M’s deal with Q ended and a new raid took place not even a day later – they ended up walking in on a gun smuggling operation which supposedly caused the head of MI5 to throw all of his good china at a picture of M.

 

There were five more raids that year, but none of them ended with the young genius in MI6’s hands and the field agents’ couldn’t care less if they tried do. In fact, they quite liked the little vacations Q sent them on, embarrassed somewhat that there were still so many places of their country which they were discovering just now.

 

“Darling, if you keep this up, you’ll also have the ministry of tourism after you, not just the spy agencies,” James heard a very relaxed sounding and looking 004 saying. “But of course we’d steal you away…” She trailed off when she saw with how much attention James was listening in. “I’ll let you go now as I believe that a certain Mister Archer plans on giving the bean counters yet another heart attack.”

 

It was tempting, especially since James wanted to give Q something for their one year anniversary as agent and unofficial handler, but as it would quickly become clear that this was not mission related, the man would kindly remind him that he had burner phones for these kind of conversations before hanging up and refusing to answer said burner phone.

 

004 suddenly grabbed his arm and gripped it tight enough to hurt. “What did he do?” She asked in a low growl, the people around them already starting to slowly back out of the room, probably already requesting for security to be sent there. “Well, if you are sure…” the woman muttered and released James, closing her phone. “Q doesn’t want to talk with you.”

 

Those words somehow hurt more than an actual punch in the guts. “What? Why?”

 

His mind raced with all the possible reasons why the man would refuse to talk with him, instantly ruling out M’s idea to have all the available agents date the operators as that plan would have taken too much manpower so it never really got off the ground. Q had been cross with him two weeks ago when he told him to hold back from getting revenge and just complete his mission and he was ignored, but it made no sense to punish him for that this late.

 

“I’m calling—”

 

“You’re waiting,” 004 insisted, grabbing James’ hand again. “Q asked that you wait, understand?”

 

Not really, but if Q requested that… He put his phone away and busied himself by assisting the Major with testing a few of newly put together inventions. Both men regretted that, James because every other sentence that came out of the Major’s mouth was related to Q and the much older man because when everything was over and done with, he had nothing but a pile of unrecognizable metal.

 

“I don’t know what you had against this poor gun,” the Major mumbled, holding what he assumed to be pieces of it. “I do wonder if you’d do the same thing if you were presented with a gun from Q.”

 

James sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Q said that, should the world come to an end and he ends up in your position, he would have me use old equipment until I learned how to respect it.”

 

“Does he know that you don’t really allow any equipment to get old?” The Major asked and one of his minions – term coined by Q which all the agents adopted – appeared out of nowhere with a really thick file which they then presented to the old man alongside a pair of glasses. “The first thing you broke was the very first thing you got on your very first mission which took place on October the 5th 19— I do so hate it when they do this to our physical records.” He shoved the file full of blacked lines and continued to grumble about this practice, tugging James after him in the dusty part of his branch where he kept the backup files.

 

James tried to get out of there before it was too late but despite his old age, the Major was fast and had a very strong grip. And thus, James got stuck listening to the list of all the damage he had done until the man was called away on agent fitting duty – this was a clear sign that God existed, so James silently admitted to himself that he should rethink his position on the whole religion thing.

 

The actual distraction came in the form Miss Moneypenny roping him in a night out with a few more double oh agents and the boffin band. James did not put up any sort of fight and easily accepted glass after glass of all sorts of alcohol mixtures that were sent to him by strangers who were interested in getting to know him better for one night.

 

He had certain rules about when and why he would accept the drinks and his first one – him having the itch – was met tonight, so all he had to do was meet his second one – the person who offered it looked like someone who could scratch him just right – and he would be set for the perfect de-stressing activity.

 

The first glass came from a woman that was much too blonde for him, the second one from a man much too short. Then there was someone too tall, the hair was too red, they looked too much like himself – he was narcissistic to a point and he did just fine screwing himself in the field – too short, too young, too old – he was afraid he’d cause them health issues – too drunk, way too drunk, how were they still alive when he was this drunk?

 

“You’re very picky tonight,” Eve shouted over the music, herself sending a drink back because of her man that was away on an actual business trip. “You can go home alone and relax yourself, you know.”

 

“Then I’d really have to start drinking,” James half-joked and return to his nit-picking. Too dull looking, too young again, too many and tonight didn’t feel like one of those nights, too shady looking, clearly charging at the end, too— oh. He could accept the offered Martini as the man who offered it looked too interesting to turn down.

 

The smile he had was inviting and pleasant, his hair messy in a natural way if the way the colourful lights bounced off of the strands were any indication, the glasses giving him the air of a naughty boffin, and the three piece suit he wore made him stand out in the sea of short skirts, short shorts, tight shirts, and V-necks that were so deep that they couldn’t even been considered that anymore even more than if he had been completely naked.

 

James returned the smile and took a sip of the drink, breaking eye contact because the Martini was done just right. He had most definitely hit the jackpot – if the man didn’t turn out to be an assassin and even if he were, he would applaud him and whoever sent him for thinking out of the box – and he better start to move in before anyone else caught the man’s eye.

 

“It isn’t often I bump into someone else who likes the drink like this,” he said in a slightly raised voice, making sure to accidentally brush his knee against the man’s when he sat down next to him. “Bond, James Bond.” The deer in the headlights look suited the man and his hand was accepted only after a moment’s hesitation, a shy smile accompanying the handshake. “And what is your name?”

 

The man shrugged and slouched, averting his eyes as he tapped his neck and shaking his head. “You can’t talk?” James asked and the man nodded, turning with his back to him and hopping off the barstool.

 

Did he really think that was a problem? Okay, so if he applied civilian logic to this situation, he understood how some people would find that as a turn off, but it took a lot more than silence to do that to him.

 

He tapped the man’s shoulder and hesitated a bit in the way he waved his hands. “ _I know how to sign_ ,” he hoped he said, digging as deep as he could in the recess of mind to remember the proper way to do this. “ _I was in the navy._ ”

 

The man smiled and touched James’ hands before starting to talk. “ _I don’t suppose you have any pictures of you in the uniform on you, do you? I’m Freddie, by the way._ ” The way his fingers danced was hypnotizing, the club’s constantly moving and multi-coloured lights looking like silk which bended to the man’s will.

 

Their conversation lasted way longer than these type usually did and it ended up being far more entertaining. They didn’t touch any deep subjects as James wasn’t suited for a relationship and Freddie danced around questions that he deemed too personal, but they shared a short list of things they liked, the short and funny little stories from their respective jobs – hey, as long as his accessible file had him working as an importer-exporter, James wasn’t lying –  and somewhere around there was when James found himself with his tongue in the other man’s mouth.

 

The first thing he noticed was that Freddie did not taste like alcohol at all. He had a pleasantly fruity taste with just a dash of mint which was not only an improvement over his last one-night stand that tasted like a cigarette, but also as a greenlight for truly taking this to the next level.

 

He tugged him closer, pulled him right off his chair and broke the kiss to rest his lips against his ear, gently massaging the man’s lower back. “Would you be terribly adverse if we were to continue this in a more private place and where the music doesn’t sound like someone put a knife in a blender?”

 

“ _If this place is your apartment, then yes,_ ” the man said in Morse code by gently tapping his soft finger against his neck, surprising James.

 

Eve looked a bit worried when she saw him leave the club and she sent 008 to try and stop him, but James easily shrugged the man away. He had been a secret agent for so long that he had a sixth sense about the people he planned to sleep with and the man that was happily nibbling on his neck while he expertly snuck his hand under his shirt without being noticed by anyone did not set off any kind of alarms in his head.

 

Their clothes were quickly discarded once they reached his apartment, a real miracle that they had managed to hold back from anything more than kissing and nibbling on each other’s necks in the cab. And that no easy feat because while mute, Freddie still made little noises that just made James shiver and want to do more to him to see just how vocal he could make him.

 

Freddie broke a kiss when his backside touched the bed and James worried that he might have done something the other hadn’t liked – he should have squeezed gently instead of pinched. “ _Just taking my glasses off, darling,”_ the man reassured him, breaking off from the last word to caress his face.

 

He then lied on his back and James almost threw himself over him, their hungry and almost animalistic kisses soon making way to soft and tender ones that could almost be confused with something honest. Even the actual sex was careful and soft, Freddie looking much too fragile to be treated otherwise despite agreeing to and wanting a one night thing.

 

Freddie was happy with the pacing, hugging James tightly to his chest, digging his nails in his back when he wanted to keep him still and biting his shoulder and grunting when he wanted him to move. James also thought he heard little murmurs of ‘more’ and ‘yes’ and even ‘please’ when he started to move faster, the other man’s hands fisted in his hair as his head was tilted back, but decided that it was just his ecstatic mind playing tricks on him as Freddie finished in a silent scream and lazily lapped at his own bleeding lower lip.

 

Spent and satisfied, his one-time partner already dozing off on his side, James broke one of his self-imposed taboos and threw a leg over him, a silent invitation for the other to spend the rest of the night in his bed. After all, he wasn’t so heartless as to kick someone that had clearly poured a lot of passion and energy into their activities – and he also quite like the way the man pulled closer to him, corners of his lips tugging upwards as he rubbed his head against his chest.

 

He remembered the early start of his career as an agent, how foolish he had been in thinking that he could actually have something important with someone who had seemingly turned their backs to their own agency, only to get his heart crushed and his back literally stabbed when he had refused to offer any information regarding MI6. He had promised himself never to be that foolish again and yet he still had his heart crushed two more times after that and it dawned on him as he felt the immense and welcome heat that was Freddie moving away from him that he wanted to set himself up again with Q.

 

How much he hated his mind when he wasn’t awake enough to be in denial. Well, a quick morning shag should make him rethink everything. If only he could get his body to actually sit up, not just dream that he did.

 

He did manage to grunt something as he threw his leg over the side of the bed, but the man was quick to place his index finger over his lips and gently shushed him. Naturally, James frowned because he was no child, but his anger was quickly subdued and was eased back in his sleep by the way Freddie ran his other hand through his hair.

 

“Happy anniversary, darling,” he dreamt of Q purring in his ear and he burrowed deeper into his pillow and imagination as he rarely dreamt and when he did, they were nightmares or memories of his worst mistakes.

 

***

 

Q never understood why it was called ‘the walk of shame’ as there was absolutely no shame in partying all night or in enjoying the pleasures of the flesh. Now if it were called ‘the walk of tiredness, discomfort, and regret’, he would get behind it 100% because if he mentally complained about the street being too long until the cab and that the seats were much too hard and the engine much too loud, he wanted to gather up in his arms all the women in high heels and all the people who had gotten drunk prior to fully enjoying themselves and give them a tight hug and black tea or coffee.

 

However, in his case, he would also like to add ‘fogginess’ in the walk’s title because he had forgotten his glasses by the man’s bedside table.

 

He made sure to call in sick that day, took a hot shower, but didn’t go to sleep right away despite Turing trying to get him to properly so he could curl up on his chest. It bugged him that MI6 had been so easily infiltrated by someone with ill intentions towards James and it annoyed him to know that lives were lost as a result of that – he didn’t even want to think how upset or James must have been.

 

It was hard to determine a pattern after just one know attack, but Q tried his hardest and when the Major caught him in their servers, he was kind and understanding and did not let his superior know. In fact, he had gone so far as to putting a gag order on his minions while handpicking the best of the best and giving them to Q to help.  

 

With so many boffins pulling in extra hours and with Q given free access to their resources, they did manage to find one big connecting between many different terrorist agencies, which made him want to laugh because if the conspirators would have known how right they were to cry about a secret organization running things from the shadows, they would be running up to world leaders and try to rip their skin off to prove that they were lizard people.

 

The organization seemed to be named ‘SPECTRE’ as the word was thrown around the most other names. It seems they had a finger in every illegal pie out there – which was extra worrisome for Q, given that what he was doing was pretty much just a pimp and a street corner away from prostitution – and someone had let it slip that Austria was their home turf.

 

However, that same person who let slip that was found dead not one hour later and from then on, no one dared to open their mouths. Whoever the number one in that organization was wasn’t going to be revealed anytime soon, no matter what MI6 promised or did to either their informants or prisoners.

 

In an attempt to make the conversation in which torture was heavily implied, Q joked if he should worry about what they would do to him if he were an informant whose face, name, and address they knew, but that backfired when the kind man started to list all the things he was willing to do for him if only he could get him in his department.

 

He guaranteed him the position of Quartermaster after he retired and promised him unrestricted access to laboratories and equipment  – as long as he didn’t overdo it with the budget, so it really wasn’t that unrestricted. He would also have the fastest and best computers at his fingertips and he would be allowed and even encouraged to improve them if he so wished, not to mention that he would be able to see and help all the agent’s.

 

Q resisted the temptation once again if only because he would still have to answer to M.

The woman had been nothing but conniving and fake with him on the few occasions when he was forced to interacted with her and while he understood that she was only protecting her agency and her agents like a mother lioness would her cubs, he couldn’t help but feel his skin crawl just at the thought of being her underling.

 

Although not as much as when he saw the pictures of his new bosses. The new Chief Marketing Officer - Dominic Greene - had beady eyes and looked more like a puppet than a human being, the Chief Financial Officer - Luis Chiffre and what a strange and convenient coincidence that the name and job title would fit - looked like someone with whom you wouldn’t want to be left alone in a room, the Chief Information Officer was sure to be a complete prick, and the new CEO looked… normal. And that made him the most suspicious of all, in Q’s opinion.

 

His dislike for them was also increased by the mails they all sent out and nagged everyone into reading or else face severe consequences payment wise which he made sure to read on a laptop that was on a completely separated network from his moonlighting. The number of virus and spyware alerts he got convinced him that there was something there and that it wasn’t just the fact that he had spent too much time in the world of spies.

 

He did read the mails once he had cleaned them of everything and it took all of Q’s strength not to hit his head against his desk and wreck the company’s servers and database until they rethought their brilliant plan. The men wanted to force them to work from the office, offering to hire a company that would drive those who worked the later shifts home and promising that they would refurbish the building and soundproof it.

 

“I definitely need to find a new job,” he muttered, frowning when the building at Vauxhall popped into his mind without a single second’s delay. “But not that one,” he sighed, shooing away the images of him and James sharing a coffee over unwritten reports and pieces of ruined equipment.

 

He managed to temporarily put them out of his mind despite another e-mail that announced that the new bosses were planning on going to go in an alphabetical order to meet each and every one of their employees and that no one would be allowed to miss that because figuring out what to get James to commemorate the one year of collaboration was much more important.

 

Any kind of equipment was out of the question because he barely had time to come up with blueprints, let alone actually putting them in practice. He thought about getting him a nice little coffee set, to force the man to slow time and enjoy a morning every now and then, but he was very sure that James wouldn’t even take it out of the box, so that was off the list.

 

In the end, he decided to give the man a drink or two since James must have been tired by now to explain to every bartender how to make it. Not that he was going to be the one making him the drink; he couldn’t mix alcohol without setting it on fire if his life depended. But it was the thought that counted – as well as the huge tip that he was going to give to the waiter to give it to James.

 

Oh, he also had to make sure that he and James would be in the same bar with the help of a Miss Moneypenny who came with high recommendations for being able to strong arm 007 into doing things and put up with the very long drive to the heart of London where the best club was – yes, he was aware that his gift was still lame.

 

He took a bit to find just the right thing to wear even if he didn’t plan on meeting face to face with James. There was still the possibility of accidentally catching the man’s eye and in the end, that was exactly what happened. He had frozen on the chair when he saw James’ blue eyes fixing on him and by the time his legs flinched as a response to his brain ordering them to move, he was pretending to be a mute in hopes that the man was a complete asshole.

 

Which James wasn’t. He happily signed back to him, was attentive to him through the night, told him a half-truth about his job, and paid attention to his stories. Not to mention that he was a great kisser and if all the alcohol tasted as it did while on James’ tongue, Q would probably end up in a rehabilitation centre.

 

The night wasn’t one he was going to forget any time soon, not only because of how good James had been but also because of how caring he was – he never pegged the man as a someone who liked to cuddle, but the second he fell asleep, he clung to him so hard that he woke up. Q enjoyed every single second of that, turning to face him and caressing his face, allowing himself a second to be stupid and wish this moment to last forever.

 

If this was the way he treated someone who was a clear land in bed and who held nothing important to him – other than his _release_ – he was curious just how many of his honeypot missions ended with the poor ‘fly’ depressed because the sweet and caring lover turned out to be nothing than a lie. Not that he scurried out of the man’s apartment depressed; just satisfied and with his stomach doing flips and turns because he hadn’t eaten anything since the day before.

 

His careful tracing of the most prominent hickey got interrupted by his phone ringing and his hopes were crushed when he realized that it was his work phone. “If it’s not a request for Q, that thing that I was coming down with yesterday is still here,” he said in an obviously forced throaty voice, going that one extra step and throwing a half-assed cough.

 

But it wasn’t Miss Plenty on the end of the line. “ _I am sorry to hear that,”_ a man said in an obviously not sorry way, “ _but I must insist that we have our meeting today before you get even sicker than you already are_.”

 

“I don’t date my customers, so I will have to turn you down,” Q mocked automatically, throwing in another cough in an attempt to mask that he had took his phone away from his ear to start the recording app on it.

 

The man barked a laugh, making Q think of when Turing had been really sick and kept coughing up fur balls. “ _I am glad to hear that, Mister Smith. Myself and my partners were afraid that you might be offering extra services and that was the reason why some very shady agencies had started to sniff around our honest company on top of why you seem to bring us the highest income._ ”

 

Did this man really think that someone who prostituted themselves out of their own free will and without a pimp would _share_ their earnings? “Might I know who I am speaking with?” He asked instead, pulling up the folder with his new bosses.

 

“ _Friedrich König._ ” The CEO of a company personally calling the lowest of the low employee from a phone that was six floor below his office set off so many alarms in Q’s head that he had already started dressing. “ _You know, Mister Duette, I must admit that I still expected to hear a slight French accent just now, despite knowing how you sound after I listened to some of your calls.”_

 

Q pulled a face and shivered in disgust. He wouldn’t be surprised if this man was on the VIP list of quite a few _special_ agencies. “Not that I feel as if this is any of our business, but I was born and raised in England, despite my French ancestry,” he said coldly and then coughed a few times directly in the phone’s speaker, his darling Turing pawing worriedly at his chest and flicking his tail directly in his face when Q assured him that he was just playing. “I apologize, but I am terribly sick and the doctor recommended that I do not leave the house until I feel better.”

 

“ _I fully understand that, Mister Duette, so you mustn’t worry about you losing your job,_ ” the man said quickly. “ _I will also make sure that no call gets sent to you, even if it is one of our high rollers._ ”

 

Not good. “No need—”

_“All the need in the world_ , _Mister Duette, since  you are one of our best employees and we really do not want anything seriously bad to happen to you,_ ” the man interrupted him. “ _And no need to worry about them either; I’ll have our other best deal with them while you are recovering. What was that keyword again? Q?”_

 

“Mister König, I promise you that there is no keyword or high rollers!” Q lied desperately, thinking with horror of all the agents that were going to end up getting hurt or dead because they had long since stopped waiting for him to introduce himself before starting to talk. “And you know what? I am suddenly feeling wonderful, so we can meet face to face and discuss whatever you want on top of the possibility of changing our phone number?”

 

The man laughed in his nose and insisted that he took his medicine on time before hanging up the phone, Q wasting no time calling Major Boothroyd to let him know that his phone number was no longer secure. He had also planned on sending him a sample of his new boss’ voice so he could compare it to the voices they had on file of all the unknown terrorist, but he went with his gut instinct and wasn’t at all surprised when his program was acting as if there wasn’t anything there to detect.

 

Next, he tried calling James, but it seemed that the man was dead to the world because he wasn’t answering his phone. Q hoped that he was dead in a purely metaphorical way but since he did not want to risk it, he called 004 and asked if he could check up on him. He then promptly promised the woman to hack or infect anything she wanted at any time of the day to get her to agree, the woman switching to her serious self when she sensed the slight fear in Q’s voice and realized that he wasn’t punishing the man for maybe overdoing it with his gift.

 

He ended the conversation before the woman could even think about trying to get him to agree to MI6’s protection and resumed his digging around despite knowing that he was going to come out empty handed. Not that he managed to stay awake for longer than ten minutes, sleep overcoming him the second he closed his eyes because they stung too hard.

 

His sleep alongside the oh so sweet and hot dream he was having got interrupted when every device with a connection to the internet announced him that someone was trying to hack him.  He fought back the attackers while packing, Turning managing to be his biggest stress because he simply refused to allow to be put in a special bag.

 

“I promise you that we’re not going to the veterinarian and that you’ll only be in here for a bit,” Q hissed, grabbing the stubborn overgrown kitten by the scruff of his neck and shoving him in the bag like a dirty rag. “And daddy is sorry that he had to be so rough, but this is for our best,” he added, sighing when all he got in return was a deep scratch on the back of his hand.

 

He ended up having to toss the luggage that was filled with his best clothes towards the two lumbering men in expensive dark suits and shades that jumped out of a still moving SUV when he came out and almost lost his precious laptops when he brought that bag up to block something that he thought was a bullet that actually turned out to be a fowl smelling dart that Q carefully examined, his curious nature overtaking his fleeing instinct.

 

“The brat’s half your size!” The man shouted at his companions, kicking the bag off of his two companions.

 

Without really thinking, Q extended the hand with the dart forward and prickled the first attacker who dropped to the ground like an huge plush toy. The other man hesitated for a second when that happened, but Q used that to his advantage and made quick work of him, leaving the driver who proved to be a tad smarter than his companions by not blindly charging towards him.

 

Instead, he circled around Q and grabbed him from behind, squeezing his wrists until the dart and other bag was dropped. But when he started to push Q against his chest, trying to squeeze all the air out of him and make him pass out, Turing attacked. Proving that cats were indeed liquid when they wanted to be, he erupted from the bag and attached himself to the man’s face, biting and scratching as hard as he could.

 

Afraid that something bad might happen to him, Q dropped to his knees and quickly recovered the lost dart which he shoved in the man’s neck. After checking to make sure that they were still alive and struggling to get Turing to let go – thank God he had forgotten to cut his claws – he hopped into the SUV and drove directly to Vauxhall.

 

***

 

‘Furious’ and ‘angry’ did not even begin to describe how James felt. ‘Enraged’, though a synonym, sounded better than ‘furious’ and he was willing to trade in ‘angry’ for ‘one wrong step away from breaking everyone’s kneecaps until he found out what he wanted’ – M warned him that if he did that, she would change the ‘active’ part from his records to ‘forcefully retired and locked up in an institute’. Everyone else understood why he was being stroppy, especially the other agents who looked like they were more than ready to drop everything and go with him to save Q.

 

Except he didn’t know where Q was, how Q looked, what Q’s real name was, how old Q was, or if he was in actual danger. All he knew for sure was that the Major informed everyone that Q’s work number had been compromised, and that Q wasn’t answering any of the burner phones he had given him. He also knew that whenever he called the agency and asked for ‘Q’, he got transferred to his temporary replacement – James got six of them. He eventually got the operator who usually transferred him to the correct person, but before he could sigh in relief, the woman informed him that she too would have to transfer him to a replacement.

 

“Was he fired?” As horrible as it sounded, he really hoped that he would get an affirmative answer as that way, Q not answering any of his phones was simply him being dejected over the loss of his job and him being transferred around was just company policy, not to mention that it would explain in the safest way why the sex number had been compromised.

 

But things were never easy. “ _I am afraid that I am not at liberty to discuss another employee over the phone with a customer, no matter how valued that customer is, Mister Archer. May I have your personal phone number so that I may add it in our VIP system list? You will receive a 10 % discount_ ,” the woman said before James could even think of a way to sentimentally blackmail her into giving him more information – although he suspected that would never work; they were probably trained into turning insistent customers down.

 

James didn’t give her his personal number, but _a_ number and just like he hoped, he was called back not one minute after he had ended the conversation. But his luck ended with Miss Plenty the operator being on the other line because she had no idea where Q was or what had happened. All she knew was that the new management was really interested in the calls that lasted the longest on certain days.

 

He asked he Major to look into this new management, only to be informed that he already was at the request of Q. “He found them to be off and asked that I assist which was exactly what I did even if I at first I thought he just needed more sleep.”

 

James arched his eyebrow. “At first?”

 

The Major nodded, putting a small box on the table and opening it. “Anyway, since you are already here—”

 

“A civilian who has helped us multiple times even though he didn’t have to could be—” He interrupted the Major only to be interrupted himself when the old man pushed a new gun in his hands.

 

“Everyone has their missions, 007, and yours has nothing to do with Q.” He glared at James with his hands clasped behind his back, daring him to try to interrupt him again or change the subject, but the agent respected him enough to keep his mouth shut – and because he also knew that if the Major didn’t want to talk about something, then nothing in this world would get him to part his lips on that subject.

 

Satisfied that he had taught James a lesson in good manners, the Major turned towards a screen on which a picture of a pretty blonde woman with brown eyes. “Your mission has to do with Miss Ivana Valenka and she is pretty enough to hold your interest for the time being, I trust?”

 

James scowled at him. There was more to him than just bedding women and the bloody ancient boffin knew that better than everyone. “I actually prefer them to have dark brown hair and either blue or dark green or look like Q,” whatever that man looked like, “so feel free to let 009 deal with her. He let slip to Miss Moneypenny that he misses going on them.”

 

She was not passed on to 009 and he was forced on this mission, M reminding him in quite a stern manner that he was, first and foremost, an MI6 agent and he should worry about what he could do for his Queen and country, not over some sultry voice over the phone that may or may not be part of SPECTRE himself.

 

James firmly continued to believe that to be a ridiculous motion, even if he had been burned way too many times than he would care to count or remember. He was tempted to go rogue again and do things his way, but he couldn’t. This time, he really had nothing to go on so he had no real choice but to go on the mission in order to keep his mind occupied.

 

It didn’t exactly work and he ended up having to read Miss Valenka’s file five times during the flight in the private plane he was supplied with to look even more like the rich man that had nothing better to do than waste money playing poker and charm women out of their clothes in to remember that she was important to MI6.

 

Miss Valenka was the main lover of the banker to the world’s terrorist organizations. She seemed to be loyal to the man, even suspected of carrying out some hits in order to protect her lover, yet it was believed that she sought the affections of which she was deprived far too often once a year when she and her lover came out of hiding for the annually private poker match in Vienna. Sadly, it seemed that the men who shared her bed didn’t live long enough to be picked up by any MI6-like agency.

 

“Her eyes tell me that I’m going to be bleeding in the back of a dark, dirty alley before the night ends,” James murmured, giving Miss Moneypenny the file back.

 

“Do me a favour and try to do that tomorrow night so I’d win the bet,” the woman joked before leaning over to hi squeeze his knee. “Or surprise us all and don’t almost die for once in  your entire career. I’d be very crossed if you do since it will reflect badly on me as a backup.”

 

James shot her a cold smile. “I’ll do my best to save your face, but I can’t make any promises if M expects me to sleep with a shaved black widow.”

 

It only took him winning two big pots to get the woman’s attention and she turned out to be even more unbalanced than he had expected. Up close and personal, James guessed she would go for someone getting tied to the bed, but she wasted no time brandishing a machete the second she finished locking her hotel room.

 

He had joked about how he wasn’t into knife-pay, but Valenka was lost in her own mind as she dropped her dress and shoved her right hand into James’ face, halfway through a story about how her lover simply allowed a man to slice it off with that very machete instead of giving them a bank account number.

 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, flinching when she grabbed his arm and yanked it away from the hidden gun in his pants. “It almost looks and feels like the real thing.”

 

“I could say the same thing about that lump in your pants,” she muttered and grabbed his gun, crushing it without breaking a sweat. “They also had a gun pointed at him belly.” The way she looked as she caressed her belly told James how that ended and he felt his heartstrings getting tugged on. “I hate guns the most.”

 

“And I don’t like knives so now that my weapon was put away, could you do the same with that?” He took the swing as a definitive no and if he were just a fraction of a second slower, he would have been a head shorter.

 

Everything in  the room was chopped in half and the door proved to have been reinforced as even though he had tricked her into slashing it five times, all it had were a few scratches that weren’t deep enough that would it would break if he kicked it or threw himself against it. She didn’t seem to be tired at all; in fact, she looked reinvigorated and close to an orgasm as she stalked towards the panting and bleeding James, weapon raised above her head.

 

He grabbed a half of a table, hoping to her weapon stuck in it long enough for him to kick her in the face and try to get the door open again but before he could do that, her hand suddenly moved to her side and the weapon was dropped.

 

“What the fuck are you doing?” She hissed, struggling to get the weapon from her clutched bionic arm. “Stop it! Stop it right now!” She yelled, falling to her knees.

 

James didn’t waste this opportunity and quickly scrambled to his feet, hitting Valenka in the base of her neck as hard as he could, making her pass out. He checked to see if she was still alive, sighing in relief when he felt her pulse - she might have been a deranged woman if not an outright deranged killer, but he had a thing about doing his best not to kill women - and then followed the instructions for removing her bionic arm that the Major sent to his phone before tying her up.

 

He left the cleaning up to Miss Moneypenny, also asking her to inform M on his behalf that he was immediately going into downtime. She still forced Medical on him before he could get away from there, rightly afraid that he would end up bleeding to death due to the man cuts Valenka had managed to inflict on him.

 

And Medical took their sweet time patching him up, poking and probing him, taking his blood and forcing him to stay in his hotel room until they were sure that he hadn’t been poisoned or infected with anything. It was night by the time he stormed out of his room, blaming his anger and the darkness for the fact that Vienna had turned into a complete mystery for him and not the fact that the last time he had been here, his parents were still alive.

 

It hadn’t been a planned visit, more like his parents passing through it on their way somewhere with him in tow and James had a vivid memory of throwing a fit about wanting to see if the palace was grander than their estate, his mother covering his face in kisses when she saw how upset he was over the size and his father promising that they would build him the biggest house anyone had ever seen.

 

How would his parents react if they knew that today, he hoped from apartment to apartment, never really living in one while he avoided Skyfall like the plague, paying to keep it from falling apart, but never really going to it? Would they have been disappointed and try to sit him down to tell them how many of his ancestors had graced Skyfall’s halls? Would they have tried to force a penthouse on him just to remind him how it was to live like the lord he was? Would they have been proud of him for not wasting a single pound of their money?

His train of thought came to a sudden halt when he realized that someone was trailing after him. As on agent on a mission, he could never doubt his senses, but he still tested the brown spot by pretty much walking around in circles and even entering a dark alley - the brown spot didn’t follow him there, but was two steps behind him the second he resumed his normal circle walking.

 

Curious how his would-be assassin/kidnapper, James stopped in front of a store that had decently reflecting glass, but he couldn’t see anything more than the fact that he was being followed by a man that had a black hoodie pulled over his head and a brown jacket on. There were no visible gun bumps as far as he could see on the man, but he could still have a knife, a gun hidden in the back, or a small needle with neurotoxin – and of the three, he feared the latter the most.

 

Truth be told, the man wasn’t the best when it came to trailing silently after someone, James decided now that he was paying attention to his surroundings. The weather was much too pleasant to warrant the amount of jackets the man had, he saw him trip once on his untied shoelaces - for that fact, he was wearing sneakers; no one in sneakers had ever made an attempt on his life, so this will be a first - and for a short period of time, he was the one following him.

 

The man seemed to catch on to that because he headed straight for a busy part of the street and the roles were switched again, so James gave him credit for that. But the ball was back in his court, despite the roles they each had and despite him not knowing the city as good as he would have liked it for it didn’t take him long to find just the perfect place for an ambush.

 

As the man wouldn’t willingly walking into a dark alley – points for owning a brain, but one could also deduce that he was afraid of going head to head with  him and that James’ earlier fears about any hidden weapons had been for naught – he would simply have to pull him into one. He made sure that he was constantly with a crowd and although almost any city in Spain would have made this walk shorter by quite a lot of time, the sudden turn that lead a dark alley appeared and with little to no effort, he pulled the confused man in after him, throwing him up against a wall, elbow in his Adam’s apple.

 

He was greeted by familiar dark green eyes staring at him in shock and slight fear behind a pair of familiar glasses, a name instantly coming to his mind. “Freddie?”

 

Freddie flashed him a smile and patted his arm until James pulled back enough to allow him to properly breathe. “Hello sexy; what can I be for you today?” He wheezed out, trying to smile at him as he massaged his neck.

 

James stared at him, unable to say or do anything because Q’s voice came out of Freddie’s mouth and his brain broke. His memory was so good that he could remember the name and faces of everyone he slept with, so he had absolutely no doubt that this was mute Freddie with the good Martini and with the fruity kiss and boring job that didn’t really allow him to go anywhere outside of the island, so why was he in Vienna and sounding like Q?

 

“Silence is not the answer I expected or hoped for. I actually thought you’d say something ridiculous like ‘be mine’ or ‘naked’,” Q awkwardly joked, but James just continued to look incredulously at him. “Although I guess you’d rather say ‘honest’ right now.”

 

“You should give up your day job and become a mind reader,” James snapped at him, shining away from the other’s attempts to  caress his face – and taking note of the angry bruises he saw on his wrists. “You invested a lot of time trying to gain my trust, but wasted your opportunity to kill me that night.” He felt a bad taste in his mouth as soon as he finished saying that. Q himself looked hurt and James had to shove his hands in his pockets not to pull him in a hug an apologize. “Are you here to finish your job?”

 

Q huffed. “I will save both of us time and pain and remind you that I could have easily killed you during all of yours missions, James,” he said, poking his chest. “You can’t seriously think that I am here to hurt you.”

 

“Why were you following me? What are you doing here? Why didn’t you tell me that night who you really were? Why—?” He was silenced by Q pushing his lips against his and he instantly returned it, hands slipping around him as he pushed him back up against the wall.

 

Q’s sweet smell drowned that of the alley and the moan he let out made James completely forget where they were. But Q broke the kiss when the other’s wandering hands found their way under his shirt and he grabbed onto them. “Really, James, here? You were bombarding me with questions not two seconds ago, thinking me a traitor…” He trailed off and tutted. “If this is how you treat every enemy, no wonder I am still not done reading your medical records.”

 

“The only thing you have on you even remotely sharp is this,” James said as he wiggled Q’s hotel key in front of him, holding them away when him when he moved to grab them. “Cheap hotel that’s very far away from where I am staying and,” he put the keys in his pants pocket and pulled out a battered wallet that belonged to Q, “two ID cards with different names on them,” he slowly glanced at the unamused Q and clicked his tongue while shaking his head, “which is something you should never do because if you are stopped by a cop—”

 

“Since this is the first – and hopefully last – time that I am physically on the run, you will excuse me for not paying attention to minor details,” Q interrupted him, snatching his wallet back and starting to dig in James’ pants for his keys. “I’m not here to kill you and 004 can vouch for that if you don’t believe the man who’s been watching over you for a year and a few months because she’s here, babysitting me with the help of Major Boothroyd.”

 

Despite the verbal slap given without knowledge, James managed to focus on acting like the honeypot M had wanted him to. He gently nuzzled Q’s ear, gently cupping his head. “If you are here with her, why were you following me alone?”

 

“Have you seen how you look from behind?” Q joked, placing his own arms around James, sighing. “You look like you were in a scissor fight and lost so I really couldn’t help but trail off after you because I was worried. Plus, 004 wants to keep me locked up in that hotel room without access to the internet until another safe-house opens and I swear that I am very close to losing my mind.”

 

“Why ask 004 for help instead of me?” James continued to interrogate him, now nibbling on his earlobe and starting to kiss down his neck.

 

Which was cheating, really, because Q had been thinking of their unplanned tryst since the moment he left the other man’s bed, wishing to have a do-over - and over, and over. “James,” he breathed out and moved to make more room for him, whimpering when he focused on his Adam’s apple.

 

“Why 004 and not me?” James asked again, biting down and sucking..

 

“Because Major Boothroyd thought you’d endanger yourself,” Q said after a few more whimpers, dizzy and cold due to James suddenly ripping himself away from him. “I will inflate your ego and say that only you can make me regret that an interrogation session flimsily disguised as a make out session in the back of a dirty alley ended.”

 

The edges of James’ lips twitched upwards for a second as he tugged Q out of the alley. “You asked what you could be for me today and you assumed that I would ask you to be mine, naked, and honest, right?” Q gave an unsure nod and James slowed down, relaxing his hold on him to the point where his hand was simply hovering over Q’s which a hint that if he wanted to go, he wouldn’t stop him – trail him to make sure that he met with 004 again, yes; force him to follow him, no. “You were right about all those, but I also want you safe,” he added in a softer voice, himself finding it strange to sound like that.

 

Q grabbed James’ tie and tugged him into a short, but hungry kiss. “Do you plan on keeping me safe just like 004 is? Or are you so sure of yourself that you think I’ll let you have M deposit me in an office underground for safe keeping?”

 

James gently took Q’s hands in his, planting a kiss over the bruises. “Have you ever been to Scotland?”


End file.
